All Differences Aside
by Halfblood Fiend
Summary: The tale of two humanoids aboard the station Deep Space Nine who perhaps couldn't be more different. A Cardassian and a human? It'll never work. I'm not sure yet if this is a collection of shorts or a full fledged story. Perhaps you can help me decide. It's mostly my own characters now, but original characters will be listed as they appear.
1. Wanna Bet

"Fifty latnum says you can't do it."

Clye Zorbek threw his comrade Neb a halfhearted dirty look before letting his gaze once again wander to the waitress' tight backside.

"Agreed," chortled Rezon, tipping his chair onto its back legs and admiring the waitress hungrily. "You don't have the _freij_."

Clye replied with a Cardassian curse.

"Then, by all means…" Neb goaded, gesturing towards her.

He glanced at her again and suddenly Clyde didn't feel so confident. She was gorgeous. But more importantly, she was Human. It hadn't been that long since their races were enemies. The peace between the Fedaration and Cardassia now was tentative. He could bet all he wanted with his shipmates, there was a real chance that she wouldn't even talk to him, let alone go to dinner with him. Too ambitious. That's what he was. Now he'd roped himself into talking to a beautiful woman who would want absolutely nothing to do with him. He glanced back at his companions.

"I'm waiting," Neb smirked.

"If you don't… I might…."

Clye scowled at them. He looked at her again, serving food to Bajorans with a dazzling smile. Suddenly, he felt sick.

"He can't do it. All talk. As usual."

"Prepare your latnum, Neb. You're about to lose it. As usual," Clye snarled, shoving away from their table in the corner.

He strode towards her with what he hoped was a confident swagger when he didn't feel anything of the sort. A thousand ways to start a conversation ran through his mind, each more miserable and uninspiring than the last. As he drew closer, he still had nothing. She set her black serving platter upon the bar and spoke to the Ferengi behind the counter. Something suave. Something alluring and mysterious. He was a Cardassian! His way of words was unparalleled. One line would suffice. One line to have her falling at his feet—

She turned, brushing her short auburn hair from her eyes and stopped. "Oh!"

Clye stopped too, forgetting what he was even doing so far from his table. She was more breathtaking up close, cheeks a bright, lovely hue with her light exertion, large brown eyes consuming him.

She smiled, rose-colored lips stretching into a small, sensual invitation meant only for him. "Hello, sir. How may I help you? See something you like? Looking for something to drink?"

Clye's pulse quickened. His mouth was dry. He tried to swallow, but he didn't seem able to manage even that.

"Orrr something to eat, maybe? I believe we have a few Cardassian dishes on the menu. Not many I'm afraid, but enough, I think." When his silence persisted, her expression turned more concerned.

He imagined could hear his friends' sniggers from across the room. He became acutely conscious of how long he'd been uselessly standing there. If she wasn't afraid of him before, no doubt she believed him to be a complete idiot by now, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.

Then, she offered him his salvation as if she always dealt with customers just like him, she laughed and her eyes glinted with a mischievousness that made his limbs tingle and ache to touch her. "I've never met a Cardassian who didn't know what to say," she teased lightly. He observed the way the corners of her eyes crinkled slightly and how the right side of her mouth curled up higher than the other and wondered what other quirks she concealed. He decided to devote himself to discovering them all.

With the assistance of her easy chime of laughter, Clye felt himself relax. He fixed her with an apologetic smile and tried to chuckle. Even though it sounded strangled in his ears, she pretended not to notice. "I've never met a Human who…" Was so beautiful. Handled herself so gracefully. Made him forget how to speak. Took his breath away. "…served drinks so efficiently."

He instantly wanted to kill himself.

But she laughed again. "Well, sir, if you ordered something from me, you could witness my prowess firsthand."

Clye didn't trust himself to speak anymore. In fact, he may never utter another word again in his life. He resigned himself to being a mute. He smiled a tight-lipped smile and nodded politely.

She looked him up and down, just a glance, but it made him want to fidget desperately. A thousand questions about his own self-worth burst into his head. When she met his eyes again, he didn't dare hope there was really appreciation in them. "How about I surprise you. Sound like a deal?"

Clye nodded again.

"I'll be right to your table with something I know you'll like. Just wait until I blow you away with my overwhelming serving talent," she quipped with a wink, and was gone.

Clye trudged back, shaking, trying to ignore his friends' howls of laughter.

* * *

Neb drained the last of his liquor and cast Clye an amused glance. Rezon stretched and said, "You know him, Neb. He hasn't got a 'no', so he's not going to stop."

"He can't even speak to her. That's as good as!"

Rezon shook his head in exasperation, clicking his tongue.

"Give it up, Clye. Just give me my latnum!" Neb hissed at him.

"Let him get crushed, Neb," Rezon laughed. "It'll make your victory taste that much sweeter." Before he followed Neb out of the bar, he lowered his voice and murmured in Clye's ear, "Be sure to inform me of how she is…."

Clye ignored his friends, suppressed the urge to rip off Rezon's scales, and focused on the mission at hand. He had pondered the whole night on how to salvage his less than desirable introduction to the waitress whose name turned out to be Rachel. As the bar's occupants dwindled, he knew his moment was drawing close. His daunting task was clear: repair his atrocious first impression, get her interested, go to dinner. Seemed simple enough to him as he picked at the remnants of the dish she had brought them (which they had all liked, just as she had promised), but when he remembered their last one-on-one encounter he darkened with shame. That was inexcusable.

"You, Cardassian!" Clye turned toward the voice to find the Ferengi from behind the bar coming towards him. "Your tab," he said gruffly, laying down a small, flat tablet with a thumbscanner. "We're closing soon. I suggest you pay and get out."

Clye nodded distractedly, not even reacting to the man's tone. He was used to being treated in this manner by other races. It was the only pitfall he knew of the Bajoran occupation. The man must have had Bajoran friends. Clye knew it wasn't a personal dislike, just a hastened, all-encompassing hatred for his whole race. It didn't bother him in the least.

He sighed and tapped the tablet, trying not to think of the terrifying task before him.

Instead of a total, a message flashed across the screen in blue letters: "Please see server."

Irked, he wondered if the Ferengi intended on questioning him about a war in which he had taken no part. Deciding it was better to take it on sooner than later and secretly glad for the distraction, Clye sauntered to the bar.

As he approached the Ferengi, the waitress Rachel, nudged him out of the way with her hip, saying brightly, "I got this one, Quark."

Clye was sure his surprise was plain on his face.

"Lemmie see that, darling," she purred, holding out a long fingered hand.

"Of course," he replied, though a little tonelessly.

Her lovely face lit up. "So you _can_ talk!"

"Unfortunately, half of what I say is moronic."

"And the other half is deceitful?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He leaned on the counter and looked up at her, praying he looked seductive. "Well... I _am_ Cardassian, however, I invite you to decide for yourself."

"Is that a promise?" She leaned on the counter too, no more than a foot away.

He struggled to keep his cool composure. "It's an offer"

"What kind?" she quipped playfully, eyes quickly roving over his face.

He barked a short, uncomfortable laugh then looked away. This was almost too easy. She was eager for him. It had to be a trick. There was no other explanation. Could he really simply _ask_?

"Is it an offer I can't refuse?" she mused.

"Well, I suppose you could, if it pleased you," Clye said, caught off guard by her obvious question.

She looked disappointed. "Did you want me to?"

"To what?" he asked blankly.

"Refuse."

"Would you like to?"

"Why would you even ask me that?" she demanded heatedly. Clye straightened abruptly and she followed suit. "I…I thought you were interested in me."

"What? No," he responded without thinking, but when he saw her hurt expression, he quickly tried to backtrack. Spluttering incoherently, he realized this whole conversation was spiraling out of control. He had to fix it or cough up fifty latnum. His father wouldn't be happy.

"Oh, just shut up and give me the tablet," she snapped.

He obeyed wordlessly and tried to suppress a shiver. Her tone was affecting him, but he was unfamiliar with Humans. Her stiff body language however, was telling him that perhaps Humans didn't find fights as arousing as Cardassians.

She leaned over the counter haughtily and beckoned him in. "Tonight it's on me, but don't be expecting anything like that again."

"I understand." As she turned away, clearly upset, he made a snap decision. "If I may..." He swallowed hard and ventured, "I could return the favor by taking you to dinner. My treat. And perhaps it would also give me the chance to apologize for all—" he gestured at nothing in particular, "-this."

"You mean, all _that_," she said, pointing at him matter-of-factly

Clye laughed uncomfortably. "Yes. Didn't I warn you that half of what I say is moronic?"

"Yeah," she said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. "But what happened to not being interested? Wanting me to refuse you?"

"I believe it was you who accused the other half of me of being deceitful."

She looked away quickly, shaking hair into her eyes, but he caught her poorly suppressed smile. It coaxed out a smirk of his own.

"Then you're—"

"I am _very_ interested."

Rachel smiled a very sweet smile for him. One that told him she believed this all a clever Cardassian trick and she had played neatly into it. It made her radiant; him, relieved.

"I'll meet you at six, out on the promenade," she said, all coyness and blushing now.

He took it all in, the low lighting, her lovely face, her delicately flushed color, her head cocked barely to the side in some element of flirtation and was immensely glad for his finely honed photographic memory. Rachel would be keeping him company tonight in his mind's eye, his last thought before the anticipation for tomorrow would ever let him sleep. He imagined he wouldn't get much of it at all. "I wouldn't miss it," he finally murmured. As an afterthought, he held up his hand, palm towards her.

She looked at it in puzzlement at first, just long enough for him to second guess himself. Nervousness exploded in his gullet as he worried that perhaps, she had no idea what the gesture signified, let alone how to respond. Then, to his immense relief and overwhelming joy, she lifted her own hand and pressed her soft palm lightly to his.

"Until then, Rachel," Clye whispered.

Her returned smile made him weak. "Until then…"

"Clye," he offered. "My name is Clye…"

"Until then…Clye," she murmured, making him shiver again.

Clye unwillingly turned away from her, positively beaming, and quite possibly, with an unmistakable spring in his step.


	2. Daring to Fall

Rachel watched Clye cast another uneasy glance around them from over her menu. She had silently watched him do it constantly for the past five minutes. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was embarrassed to be seen with her. Frowning, she raised up the menu so she couldn't see the Cardassian anymore. His movements made her edgy and now she was starting to get irritated….

"Have you decided what you wa—"

"What are you doing?" Rachel demanded, slamming her menu down.

Clye cocked his head to the side and looked at her in confusion. "I beg your par—"

"Why do you keep," she realized she was getting too loud so she lowered her voice begrudgingly, "glancing around?"

He didn't answer, only did another quick scan and pulled uncomfortably at his jet black uniform. Clearing his throat, he hid behind his menu.

She reached across the table and pulled it away from him, scowling. He didn't fight her, just gave her that blank, arrogant Cardassian look that either made her want to slug him across his stupid scaly face, or pull him into a crushing kiss. It really depended on her mood.""Clye…." she growled.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Talk to me," Rachel snapped. "I never would have figured _that_ would be so difficult for you."

"I was trying to," Clye replied smoothly.

"Not about what I want to eat. I mean about what you're doing!"

"And what's that?" Rachel rolled her eyes and threw him back his menu. What was even the point? He would hardly shut up sometimes; he talked and talked their first few dates but _god forbid_ she ask him a direct question! Any more attempts at communication would get her talked in circles, get the subject changed, or result in him pretending to be interested in something else long enough that he could conveniently forget what her original question was. If there was one thing she hated... She glared across the table at him while he pointedly ignored it.

"Why can't you just _tell_ me?" she asked exasperatedly after a few minutes of silence.

Clye looked over at her, just a condescending glance from beneath his protruding brows. She hoped he couldn't tell, but she liked that look. Rachel took a shaky sip of her water as an excuse to move, anything to stop herself from squirming beneath his emerald gaze. "_Why _do you _insist_ on knowing?"

"Because. You're making me nervous, always looking over your shoulder…." She sighed and glanced away. "If you won't just tell me, maybe I should try to guess?"

"Be my guest. I won't stop you," he said calmly.

Rachel took a deep breath. It was best to start with her most nagging fear, but she was a little worried he'd say something she didn't really want to hear. "Okay… Are you afraid to be seen with me?"

"What? That's ridiculous!" he cried, seeming genuinely surprised.

"Okay!" Rachel said, relief spreading through her. "Fine. It's not that. Are you not supposed to be out here?"

"Of course I can! I'm not an infant."

"Well then…" she sighed. "What?"

His mouth set into a firm line and he glanced around the restaurant again. Rachel waited impatiently, tapping the tabletop, chin in hand. She'd seen this expression once before when she had asked him why his friends had looked at her with such surly faces. So far as she could tell, it was his 'deliberating' face, used when there was something she should know that he didn't want to say (like that dumb bet). When Clye finally looked at her again, he smiled. "You look terribly lovely that way."

"Clye!"

"Fine, Rachel. If you _must_ know," he relented, "I'm just not fond of the attention we are attracting."

"What do you mean?" she asked blankly.

She ignored his annoyed expression as he leaned forward and lowered his voice so that only she could hear. "The dirty looks, Rachel. We, or more appropriately, _I_ have been receiving them all evening."

"You have?"

He nodded grimly. "Take that Bajoran couple for instance— No, don't look! They can't seem to comprehend that you would be out with me. Willingly."

"I thought you said that you didn't care what people thought?" Rachel laughed quietly.

"I don't," he snapped.

"Well, then…so what? Let them stare. We shouldn't let their bad attitude ruin our night."

"It's not just them," Clye sighed, leaning back.

Rachel shrugged.

"I just don't want our relationship to have any effect on your job or your customers. This is a Bajoran station, after all, and I am… you know."

"So you keep pointing out…." Rachel smiled at him. He was worried about her work relationships? How cute. The man could be terribly charming when he wasn't being difficult. "I'm touched that you're thinking of me."

"I'm always thinking of you," he murmured silkily.

Heat rose up to her face and she had to look away from his deep, expressive eyes. She couldn't help but smile and blush. He always affected her that way. It's what drew her to him in the first place. She had tried to go about her work, but she had known he was staring. It made it difficult to concentrate while under his green gaze. It was captivating. And so unique for a Cardassian (though she only really knew one, Garak.) All night, she silently begged for him to come talk to her and been elated when he finally did. Four dates later, he still had the same affect on her but it was bittersweet. She knew that it wouldn't last. Couldn't last. In a few days, he'd be gone with his ship, and this all would be just a memory.

When she finally met his gaze again, he was still smiling at her. A small, smug little smile as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her and appreciated every second. Maybe he did. Maybe she would ask him about it some time. _Clye? Why do you waste such sweet words on me? Of all people?_ Suddenly, she wanted him all to herself. She wanted to leave all these prying eyes behind so he wouldn't worry anymore, and she knew just the place. Beaming, she asked, "Are you even hungry, Clye?"

After thinking a moment, he replied, "Not particularly, no."

"Then let's blow this popsicle stand."

"What?"

"It's an expression. C'mon, let's get out of here and hit a replicator." Placing her menu neatly on the table, she jumped up and held her hand out to him. He grinned too and followed her out of the restaurant eagerly.

* * *

"This is awful!"

"What the heck do you mean?"

"I mean that it's cold and I don't like it," Clye said smartly, putting down his cup of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

"You're going to make me eat them both?" Rachel laughed. "You really don't like it?"

Clye wrinkled his nose and looked down at it distastefully. "I realize you said it's your favorite, but I just don't appreciate its temperature."

Rachel shook her head at him. "Are you always so picky?"

"I have very particular tastes," he affirmed. Rachel sensed the other meaning behind his words, but chose to act oblivious. His hand reached up and lightly stroked the back of her neck, her shoulder. She could barely suppress a shiver that was definitely not from the ice cream.

Somehow they had managed to find a totally deserted observation deck. This room was made for civilians, one of many in each spire. The two of them sat on the edge of a table; the room was fitted with dozens of them. Circular tables like theirs were scattered around the floor with matching chairs and a few plush couches facing a wide curving window looking out into the vast emptiness of space. Rachel had always been fascinated with the idea of space. It calmed her to look out on its endlessness, at its cloak of darkness filled with twinkling stars and wonder what was out there. When she was younger, her fantasies often included alien planets fraught with adventure and some far off, dashing prince. Childish fantasies, but it was enough to fuel her to enter into Star Fleet. Through a mishap she had fallen into the research division and now lived here, on DS9, filling her time with her studies and table waiting. She loved the newness of the bar, all the constant fresh faces. She liked the old ones well enough, but she lived to meet new people. It was as close as she would ever get to exploring foreign planets and having exciting adventures. At any rate, it was better than having her nose stuck in a book all day, which is what she would have done if she had stayed on Earth. When she saw that her same position was available on Deep Space 9, she jumped at the chance to leave her home planet. She never regretted it.

The only part of her childhood dreams she was missing now, was that elusive prince. She giggled at herself, causing Clye to cast her a questioning glance. It wasn't attention she was after; she knew she got plenty of it. She fancied the grand romance she always imagined in her dreams. Things that were always too good to be true. She knew real people didn't act like that. They didn't make grand promises and vows of undying love. It just didn't happen. But it didn't stop her from hoping, just a little.

Rachel closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Clye close beside her, of his fingers playing in her hair, and was, for the moment, content.

After a time that felt about as endless as the galaxy before them, Rachel broke the silence. "Did you ever get your money?" she asked quietly, the amusement clear in her voice.

Clye chuckled. "Yes. But this was never about the money."

"What was it about?" she asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer already. It would sound so much better coming from him. She scraped at the bottom of her cup and licked the last bit of ice cream from the spoon.

"That," he murmured.

She gave him a confused look, the spoon still in her mouth, and he laughed.

"Yes. That exactly."

"You like the way I lick spoons?"

Hes only answer was an amused expression.

"Well you _would_, wouldn't you?" she teased, gesturing to the crest on his forehead.

Shaking his head, Clye chuckled, "I like everything you do. All your mannerisms. I find them captivating."

Rachel blushed again and picked up Clye's abandoned cup. "When will your ship's repairs be finished?" she managed after picking at for a while.

He heaved a long sigh and pushed away from her. "Soon. Your engineers are very efficient," he said stiffly. She watched him slide off their table and cross to the window. She sensed that maybe she had asked the wrong thing. Rachel hardly dared to hope that Clye was as upset about his imminent departure as she was. He sure did seem to act like it was touchy.

"They are," Rachel agreed carefully. "But at least you can get on to doing whatever it is your military does nowadays. Isn't it better that you can get right back to your mission?"

"I'm not so sure," he whispered.

Rachel joined him at the window, hesitating. She knew what she wanted to say, but it was all too wild and fanciful. It would be too much for him, she was sure. "Clye, I…I wish…" She sighed and laid her hand on his arm. "I don't know."

"Ask me," he whispered so quietly Rachel almost didn't catch it.

"What?"

"All you have to do is ask me, Rachel."

"Clye, I… I couldn't!" If he was implying what she thought he was implying….

"And why is that?" he challenged somewhat aggressively.

"There's nothing for you here," she mumbled though a part of her knew better. He'd made his intentions clear enough in the past couple of weeks, and he seemed hard-headed enough to disregard anything she could try to say. She was secretly pleased he'd shown such a vested interest in her; it made her feel special. There were trillions of life forms in the universe (more than that!), and he was drawn to _her_? It seemed too good to be true.

"There's you," he replied, affirming her thoughts.

"You don't even know me," she protested feebly. "We've talked a few times, went on some dates, but you don't know me enough to make the kind of decision you're talking about. What if there's something about me that you hate? I mean, you've never even kissed me."

He considered for a moment. "I suppose you're right," he mused.

Rachel sighed in relief. It was good to know he wasn't beyond reason. Even though she was a little disappointed, she knew that breaking it off would be for the better. Letting him go back to his life would be best for both of them. She could always remember this as the time she started falling for a Cardassian. It would be the kind of story she would laugh at; the kind she would tell a group of prim Human women playing at a game called, "being friends," wearing conservative, smartly ironed dresses that ballooned around their legs when they sat on uncomfortably hard couches, drinking tea in china cups. The confession would draw forth bubbles of scandalous laughter from these people. _"Good thing you settled for someone normal and human like your husband,"_ a "friend" would simper. Comfortable. Plain. Human.

Who was she fooling? She could never settle for a boring little life like that.

Rachel wanted more than anything to be selfish right now, even to live out a life with him. It wasn't her call, but she wanted more than anything to beg Clye to stay, take him up on his offer…. But what would he even do here? It took much more than just the promise of love to make a life. He would have absolutely nothing here. He was a military man, she didn't even know if he had any other skills besides killing mercilessly and interrogating. She shivered. No, that was only an assumption. He had never shown any tendencies to either of those common Cardassian skills.

"You know, I think I ought to remedy that," he mused, interrupting her thoughts.

Before Rachel could ask what he meant, his fingers were stroking her jaw; his hands were holding her face; his gaze turned intense. Before she could register any of this, he was kissing her. Despite his hard appearance his lips were soft and gentle. Rachel's last coherent thought was one of pleasant surprise before she melted into him, falling into a sweet rhythm she could have stayed in forever. She snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him deeper, longing to be closer. His thumbs traced her cheeks and he started to pull away. Rachel didn't want to stop but she was all heavy breathing and flushed cheeks. Clye hovered only inches from her face and observed her, the way he always seemed to. She fidgeted only a little under his adoring gaze.

His lips stretched into a wide smile (she wanted to kiss him again _so_ badly) and he let his nose graze hers. His small scales were smooth and tickled her skin as he moved. "I don't believe there is anything I can hate about you," he murmured sweetly. "Even if there is, there is certainly far more good than bad."

Rachel frowned a little. "Still…."

"My mind is made up."

"Clye…."

"Ask me, Rachel. Ask me…."

She sighed, letting her doubts get the best of her. "But what will you do?"

"None of that matters," he said firmly, shaking his head. He pressed his lips to hers again and she let him brandish away all her worries. Pulling back just enough to speak, he whispered against her lips, "That is all that matters to me."

Rachel nodded dazedly, consumed by him. She wanted desperately to believe him. She thought that maybe, just maybe, it was possible. Despite barely knowing him, despite their grave differences, despite everything that was against them, she could easily love him. Maybe she was crazy enough to love him already.

She really couldn't say for certain.

"Ask me," he urged again.

It _was_ what she wanted, after all…. She smiled and pulled a little ways away from him. Biting her lip, she raised her hand to him, palm facing out. "Please, stay with me, Clye. Don't go…."

"I couldn't bear the possibility of never seeing you again," he said, placing his palm against hers.

Rachel threw herself into his arms and kissed him passionately. Her heart soared and she felt remarkably happy, though a little foolish. But that feeling didn't weigh her down. She had spent her whole life always making "the right" choices: going to school, joining Starfleet, even moving to DS9; maybe now it was time to make some wrong ones.

And yet the way Clye was holding her now didn't feel wrong at all.

{Thanks for reading, I know they're long but I just get so into it! If they need to be shorter, it'd be cool if you let me know. There's no reviews but there's readers, so good enough for me. :D

I'm really excited and this is my first Star Trek thing so, while I encourage both good and bad criticism, be gentle. Hahaha!

Hang tight for the next installment of gooeyness (not really though, so don't be upset).}


	3. And Facing the Consequences

{AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you so much for dealing with my technical difficulties! I guess when you transfer things over several devices, things tend to get jumbled up on accident. Just know that I will take a great care to pay more attention and not let my over-excitement about finishing a chapter get the best of me.

No more Fiendish late night posting!

Now hold onto your pants, I feel like this one gets intense. Thanks for reading. :] }

{3}

{2}

{1}

Ping!_ "Glinn Zorbek?! Are you there?"_

He heard the muffled communicator from somewhere far away; somewhere plush and heavy where an all-too-addicting sweet scent ensnared his whole system, rendering him utterly useless. He smiled to himself and buried his face deeper in it.

Ping! _"Neb to Glinn Zorbek! Are you there? –He isn't listening!"_

"Turn it off," a voice thick with sleep mumbled.

Rachel's voice.

Now he remembered whose scent he was reveling in. Now he remembered the night before.

Clye slowly opened his eyes and took a long deep breath, savoring the moment lying buried under her satin indigo covers.

He had escorted her to her room after leaving the observation deck last night, promising not to leave the station. Once at her door she had invited him into her quarters for a beverage she called "coffee," assuring him that the new food would, in fact, be hot this time.

Well, he still had no idea what "coffee" was, but he _did_ have a better idea of Human physiology.

His face stretched into a wide, drowsy grin.

Ping!_ "Neb to Glinn Zorbek, you _have_ to get back here, I—"_

_"__Oh, give me that!"_ Rezon's voice snarled. _"Gul Zorbek is looking for you; does_ that_ get your attention? He's close to interrogating _the whole crew_! Now if you don't want me to _skin_ you when next we meet, I suggest you GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE__‼‼"_

Concern now pushed its way into his sluggish, groggy mind. What could his father want with him? Surely the repairs were not yet finished. They had a few more days at least. Ample time for him to prepare his official resignation for the Gul…. He was not going to like it, but Clye's mind was made up. It felt even more resolute now with Rachel in his arms. In this comfortable bed he could almost believe the deed had already been done and that he could live out his life in peace here.

Even with the promise of such a future, Clye felt himself hesitating. He wanted very much to stay, but in doing so, he must disobey his father and all he stood for. Such an act went against everything he'd ever been raised to regard: family above anything, absolute obedience to the military. To stray would mean to starve, a return to the darkness and despair that was Cardassia before there military took over. Because of this belief that was instilled in him ever since he was a child, because he had been expected to be just as great a Gul as his father, he had joined the military ranks. He moved up quickly, caught the attention of those with the ability to make him powerful, and yet, much to the dismay of expectant parents, he had dragged his feet in accepting any of the numerous futures offered to him.

No one knew (though he suspected that his sister had guessed) that he had never actually wanted any of this. He joined the military in the hopes of assuaging his parents thirst for power, only intending on being another face in the crowd. He had no idea of just how good he would be at it. Now he found himself stuck in a circumstance he didn't wish to be in with parents and officials waiting with bated breath for his next decision. He knew what they wanted, he knew what was expected, but he had never had any inkling of what he wanted.

Until recently.

He was sure his family would never accept this decision. They would fight him. They would be angry with him. He could very well lose them entirely.

Yet he was prepared to throw everything away.

Ping!

Clye eased himself up into a sitting position, careful to disturb Rachel as little as possible, and searched the hastily discarded clothes on the ground for his communicator.

"Glinn Zorbek, here," he yawned into it. "What is it?"

_"__There you are! When you weren't responding, I feared the worst—"_

He felt Rachel's fingers trace his ridges from his neck to where the scales blended seamlessly into the grey skin of his back and he lost track of anything Neb was trying to tell him. When she pressed her lips to the sensitive space between them, he sighed.

_"—__Something the matter, Zorbek?"_ Neb asked in concern.

"No, nothing at all," Clye barked, struggling to regain control over his tingling body.

Behind him, Rachel giggled, her hot breath tickling his ear. He nearly lost the little control he struggled to obtain. He nearly turned around and engaged in far more enjoyable activities—

_"__Is...is there someone else there with you?" _Neb accused, sounding affronted.

Clye cut the communicator and turned to gently reprimand Rachel but when he saw her lounging lithely atop the covers, he kissed her instead. She was breathtakingly beautiful now but she had shown him last night that she could be even lovelier. She could be all soft, flushed skin pressed to his body, all hot, heavy breath against his neck, all blossoming beneath him like the loveliest flower under the Cardassian sun.

He grazed her cheek with his nose and felt her shiver and smiled. Holding a finger to his lips, he pressed the communicator button. "Of course not," he said into it silkily.

_"__Gul Zorbek has requested your presence,"_ Neb huffed in obvious annoyance. _"I would not keep him waiting if I were you."_

"I would not dream of it."

Rachel beamed and snaked her arms around his neck as he carelessly tossed the communicator back on the floor. "I guess that means you have to go then?"

"Only if you can't make me a better offer…" he purred.

She kissed him convincingly but he knew better. He'd have to face the Gul eventually, and sooner was always better than later. Rachel caressed his shoulders and he shuddered. Clye pulled away while he was still able, sighing.

"I must answer the summons, I'm afraid."

"I know." She released him, watching him thoughtfully as he grudgingly began getting dressed. "Zorbek is your surname isn't it?" she wondered aloud.

Clye hesitated an instant in pulling on his pants, but didn't answer immediately. It was foolish of him to hope that detail would escape her notice. The woman was just as sharp as any Cardassian he had ever met. He'd hoped he would never have to explain his predicament to her, and especially not how difficult it would be for him. Content to carry his burdens on his own, he wanted her to stay blissfully ignorant, but she wasn't an imbecile. She was perceptive, and whenever he tried to keep something from her, she was irritatingly persistent. She bothered him until he was either so amused or so riled, he relented. "Yes," he said carefully.

"But you're the _Glinn_—"

"A Glinn…."

"—so who's the Gul? Are you related?"

Clye developed a sudden fascination with the precise position which his communicator was pinned to his belt. If he told her about his relation, she would get a hint at his political position; she would undoubtedly want to know more. She would ask him ceaseless questions, some he most assuredly wouldn't want to answer, even some he couldn't answer. She would grow angry; they would fight. And though he liked picking fights, he had the sneaking suspicion Rachel wasn't nearly as fond of them as he.

"It's a common name," he said, waving the topic away.

Her eyes narrowed. Another question formed on her lips so he kissed her firmly. "Goodbye, Rachel. Thank you for the coffee."

She shook her head and smiled. "Remind me to give you the real thing sometime."

"You mean that wasn't it?" he asked in mock surprise.

When she laughed, he knew he was safe. If only his father could be so easily distracted. If only he could be accepted so implicitly by his family the way he was by Rachel. His next task would be a much simpler one.

Clye smiled at her, even though he no longer felt nearly as cheerful as before. He swiftly kissed her one last time. A part of him wanted to regain the high spirits he'd woken up with, but mostly he hoped to glean from her some kind of confidence to get him through his next encounter. She touched his face and he sighed, turning away. If he could just have this for the rest of his life…

…it needed to begin with his withdrawal from the Cardassian Central Command.

In the doorway, a moment of panic gripped him. He would be punished, he was sure. Was he a traitor now for even considering deserting? He would never see Cardassia again. He would never feel the sun on his face, or walk through the marketplace outside his home, or climb the cliffs overlooking his city to hunt taspar and raid their nests. Surely he would never see his family again. He would never again fight listlessly with his sitser, never again taste his mother's Erkeel. If he ever came home, it would be in disgrace. Could he bear to look upon their disappointed faces? He was throwing away his whole life, albeit it was a life he didn't really want.

He threw Rachel one last, searching glance. She delivered what he needed flawlessly: a reassuring smile, an "I'll see you again later won't I?"

Regaining a grip on himself, he replied, "Count on it."

* * *

"Glinn Zorbek," the helmsman greeted when he entered the bridge. The man stood and saluted.

Clye returned it distractedly, his stomach clenching up into knots. On the whole trek through the station, he had decided on exactly what to say, a whole conversation carefully orchestrated in his mind. Gul Zorbek, unfortunately, was very unpredictable. Clye knew full well he could plan as much as he wanted, but his father would not fit in seamlessly. He never did.

Gul Den Zorbek was unreadable, calculating, and perpetually aggravated with Clye. Despite being family, Clye felt like he knew next to nothing about him except for all the stories and the commendations he'd received during the Bajoran Occupation. He'd done a number of things ranging from overseeing labor camps to quelling the rebellions. Though it was the latter that Clye heard of the most because that was what Gul Zorbek seemed the most proud of. "Hope will work wonders for a people," he'd say after a particularly grisly story in which he and five troops stomped out a whole Bajoran resistance cell. Though the number of soldiers in his squad tended to vary from telling to telling, the end result was always the same: men and women mercilessly slaughtered, the interests of Cardassia secured. "That is why you must make certain to extinguish it so absolutely that not even a ghost of a glimmer of it can find its way into their hearts."

Hope.

His favorite topic.

It was a shame that Clye and his father knew it by different definitions.

"The Gul is in the Tactical Quarters," the helmsman said smoothly.

"Thank you."

Taking one last deep, steadying breath, he crossed the bridge and put his hand against the screen by the far door. His fingers tingled and warmed as the scanner confirmed his identity and the tall, triangular double doors slid open soundlessly. They revealed a long, dark room dominated by a low table emanating a red hologram of the space station and the nearby planet, Bajor. That and a ring of dim, flickering blue lights around the ceiling were the only illumination. As Clye's eyes adjusted, he could just make out the shape of his father, barely lit by the holographic projection. Sickly red light streaked across his polished uniform and reflected off his scales but his face remained shrouded in shadow.

"The only thing worse than being aided by the _Bajorans_ of _Tarok Nor_, is having to call it '_Deep Space 9'_…." His voice was slow, precise, and thick as kanar.

"It's been a long time since this station has been Tarok Nor, father, but at least things are civil now," Clye drawled. He ventured deeper into the room until he stood across from his father at the table, his hands clasped behind his back to stop their shaking.

His father slowly looked up at Clye, dark shadows playing around his brow ridges, the light making his eyes glow red. He was truly fearsome. Clye could respect that. "_Father,_" he snarled lowly. "I am_ the Gul _to_ you!"_

Clye inclined his head, careful to keep his eyes locked on his father's. Looking away was submission; an invitation for the animal to strike, and Clye wasn't about to show any weakness if he wasn't forced to. "As you command, Gul Zorbek" he said coldly.

Narrowing his eyes at Clye, his father accused, "You were not in your quarters this morning when I called upon you."

"I arose early," Clye remarked snidely.

"Check your tongue, Glinn, before you find you choke on it." The threat was barely a hiss, but it caused Clye's mouth to go dry. His father slowly circled around the table and commented in a voice so casual, one might just believe he was speaking of the weather, "I've caught wind of some very unfortunate rumors of late…."

"One should never listen to such unpleasant fabrications as rumors, Gul Zorbek. They cloud the mind."

"Rumors must be started somehow," he mused stopping slowly before Clye. Even though he was taller than his father, Clye felt infinitesimally small. He wanted to back away, yearning for more room between them, or at the very least to be out of arm's length. He'd received more than his share of cuffs over the years and he didn't want another. Though when he admitted he was resigning, his father may very well strangle him. "And when the rumors one hears are so utterly _preposterous, _one must beg the question of their beginnings in truth."

"Truth?" Clye chucked, sounding more daring than he felt. "If it's so _preposterous_, how could there be _any_ truth in it?"

His father regarded him for a long time, considering, weighing options, or perhaps he only paused in an attempt to make Clye slip up. He wouldn't put it past him. "You are my most exemplary and trusted Glinn," he began delicately, "so I shall only ask this _once_." His hand shot out and he squeezed one of Clye's neck ridges sending crippling, shooting pain all throughout his body. Clye tried hard not to cry out, but his father applied more and more pressure until his face screwed up against the pain and his knees began to buckle. He dared not try and pry the hand off no matter how much he wanted to; it would only serve him worse in the end. "Have you been meeting with a _Human_ while _aboard this station?"_

Clye clenched his teeth and tried to think. Saying 'no' would mean an end to this excruciating pain, but also an end to his short-lived dream of staying aboard Deep Space 9. Conversely, saying 'yes' could mean he would never see the outside of these Tactical Quarters again, and then the whole point would be moot. Though he wasn't a coward, he did value his life. There didn't seem to him to be any way to live if he answered the question at all so he settled for: "I was not informed our interspecies interactions were limited."

"Do not _test_ me, Clye! Speak!" He dug his fingers in harder and Clye's legs gave out entirely. He fell hard to his knees.

"Father!" That only earned him more pressure.

_The hell with it_. "YES!" he screamed. "And I desire to stay here with her!"

"Insolence!" his father cried, shoving Clye away from him. "Filth!" Clye allowed himself to sprawl back onto the floor. Twinges of pain still wracked his body causing short convulsions. "Lies!" He tried to force himself to move, humiliated at being disarmed this way, but his trembling arms no longer supported his weight. "Is it your selfishness that makes you believe you can throw your life away or is it simply your _stupidity?!"_

"This was _never my life!" _Clye roared from his father's feet. All he could manage was to prop himself on his elbows.

"You are a foolish and disgraceful boy—"

"_I am leaving, father!"_

"I _will never _let you!" his father roared, pulling Clye up and slamming him against the wall.

Snarling, Clye tore his father's hands off his uniform and shoved him back against the table. He threw himself on top of him with new purpose, and they grappled until he was able to kick his father away. As he staggered back, Clye instinctively reached for the gold phaser strapped to his hip and leveled it as he spun. Another phaser pointed at him. They stood facing each other, breathing heavily, father and son, aimed to kill.

"My son would never do such a thing," his father sneered. "He would never stoop so low!"

Before he could stop himself, Clye spat, "Then perhaps I am not your son!"

A pause.

A real, stunned pause.

Immediately, Clye regretted his words. The look on his father's face…. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to take them back. He wished he'd never said them. It was as if he were six years old again, saying similar things he never really meant, but watching the same hurt and disappointment creep into his parents' eyes….

His father lowered his phaser. "Get out."

Clye opened and closed his mouth. He shook his head, eyes wide.

His father didn't reply, he didn't have to; he wasn't going to. He only turned away from Clye and resumed examining the hologram of DS9.

"F-Father, I…" Clye stammered weakly. The phaser felt heavy in his hand. It swung to the side, dead weight now, as heavy as his words in the air.

Silence. He was being ignored. It was as if he no longer existed.

It hurt worse than if his scales had been ripped clean off.

There was nothing else to do.

He staggered away, turning numbly, still in shock.

He left the bridge wordlessly, ignoring the helmsman and even the other Glinn. They called after him. He didn't respond.

He found himself somehow at his quarters. If only he could lie down…maybe he would wake and none of this would have happened…

They were locked.

Stunned, he pressed his hand to the sensor pad again and again. A buzzer sounded from within each time. His access was denied.

His father had been swift in stripping him of his title.

Clye leaned his forehead against the cool metal door that used to be his own and struggled to think coherently. Now he had nothing. He was nothing. There was nowhere for him to go here.

His breath started coming in short gasps. He tried desperately to get a grip on himself, to remember what this was even for. He'd had a reason for doing this hadn't he? Something he'd nearly forgotten about, something that, in the span of a few minutes, had grown insignificant, and yet, it was undoubtedly important.

Otherwise, why would he put himself through this kind of torture?

_"__I'll see you again later, won't I?"_

Clye closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

"Count on it," he told himself, and pushed away from the only life he knew.


	4. The Breaking Point

Rachel looked over the stony faced Constable searching for any sign of weakness in him she could use. Of course, there was none, but it didn't stop her from trying. She believed the Shapeshifter had a heart in there somewhere, even if no one else did. She laced her fingers together and tried again to sell him on the same idea she'd come in with about twenty minutes ago. "Oh, please, _please_, Odo!" she begged. "Weren't you just saying the other night that you could use a new deputy? Someone with an outside point of view?"

The slight, but imposing man barked a short laugh. "I was, but Zorbek wasn't exactly who I had in mind. Frankly, I think he'll be more trouble than he's worth," he said in his low, gravelly voice.

"How do you mean?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Miss Owens, this a Bajoran station, and Zorbek is a Cardassian. He's not exactly what you would call an "outsider" and his perspective probably won't be seen as "new." I won't be accused of reinstating security from the times of the Occupation."

"But he had nothing to do with the Occupation. He wasn't even in the military at that time!"

Constable Odo shook his head again and picked up his tablet. "More trouble than he's worth, Miss Owens."

Frowning, Rachel tried to think of some other way to persuade him that wouldn't sound like whining, which was getting more and more difficult as they argued. Honestly, she understood his position, and why Clye might even turn out to be a terrible choice for a deputy, but she needed the man out of her quarters. She figured the only way Clye would bust the little bout of depression he was suddenly in would be to get out and do something. He'd already made it clear he was regretting staying on the station with all his back-handed compliments and sarcastic remarks. He didn't even want to go out with her anymore- not even to the bar where he had enjoyed himself before!- as he said he found it "tiresome": "It's just the same dull people doing the same dull things." She had spent the past few days in acquiescence, now she'd just about _had_ it with him. While she respected and appreciated what it must have taken to leave his old life, Rachel was fed up with his attitude about it. If he wasn't even going to _try_ and make the most of it, _why did he even offer to stay_? The more time he spent moping with her, the more hurt she got. She hoped that if she could get him out and about in an environment even remotely similar to his old one then…then…

Well then maybe he'd stop being such an asshole to her.

"He's got nowhere else to go," she finally sighed. "No one else would want to hire him."

"I can't blame them," Odo scoffed, looking up at her again.

"He doesn't fit in anywhere."

"That doesn't sound like it's my problem."

"He could be really useful to you. Like an insider look at Cardassians!" Rachel said brightly.

"Or maybe _he_ is the insider, hmm?"

Rachel scowled. "Now, Constable—"

Odo raised one of his hands to silence her before she could start off on how wrong he was at insinuating he was a spy. "Why doesn't he come himself to ask for work? Then maybe I can decide if he could actually be of use to me."

"He doesn't exactly know I'm here," she muttered evasively.

Odo raised a bare eyebrow at her.

"He hasn't been the same since the _Preklar_ left the station."

"What's wrong with him?"

What's wrong with him?

Rachel wished she knew the truth.

Clye wouldn't tell her, not that he really had to. She knew it was because something had happened when he tried to resign, she just wasn't sure _what_ exactly. He'd come back to Rachel's quarters a few days ago very shaken and she did all she could to comfort him. For a little while, he wouldn't drink or eat and he still wouldn't talk to her about what really happened. All she could do was worry about him. Worry and wonder. And it only made her feel all the more guilty knowing it was all her fault. She'd made him feel this way. She was so _stupid_ to ask him to stay with her. Really, _what had she been thinking?_

She'd made him like this, all depressed and lethargic, and now she felt compelled to try and fix it, to ease his grief somehow. Or maybe it was to ease her guilt, she didn't really care what the reason. All she wanted was for Clye to be with her and be happy he'd stayed. So far, he wasn't going to do that on his own.

"He's just upset, I guess. I'm just trying to get him out here, doing something. You and I both know that his military talents would be best suited here rather than anywhere else on the station…."

"I do know that, Miss Owens, but the complications it could raise…." Odo sighed.

On a stroke of inspiration, Rachel pretended to be defeated. "Alright, fine, Odo. I understand completely. I won't ask you again." Immediately suspicious, Odo raised himself to half standing as she turned away, heaving a huge theatrical sigh. "I guess I'll just have to go see if Quark has any work for him. I bet _he_ would know people who could really use a big, imposing Cardassian mercenary for _something_—"

"That won't be necessary," Odo said grudgingly. Rachel turned back to him trying not to look too gleeful. "Send him to me and I'll… see what I can do for him."

Rachel beamed and clamped her arms to her sides to stop herself from throwing them around him. "Thanks so much, Odo! You won't regret it!"

"I'll be the judge of that," he muttered resentfully as she practically skipped from his office.

Bursting from excitement, she flew down to her quarters on the lower decks.

There seemed to her to be no way Clye could still be really upset now. They'd talked about his finding a job many times before. He'd always try to end the conversation with the declaration that he would never find a place on the station. Now, here it was, the perfect solution. She only hoped he would be grateful for her help. He had been for everything she'd done so far. For as distant as he could become, he always told her that he appreciated what she was doing for him, that he was sorry for being so useless and that he hoped he could repay her. Sometimes, he _would_ make up for some of it in _other_ ways.

Rachel smiled to herself.

She found herself imagining that he would be overwhelmingly happy when she told him the news. She imagined him smiling and kissing her and proclaiming he could most certainly stay here forever with her now. They'd live a sweet and happy life, content with falling in love and being with each other.

Rachel laughed out loud. That was so stupid, she felt silly for even thinking of it.

At the door to her quarters, she attempted to settle her nerves. She jammed her fingers on the pad and hoped for the best.

"Clye!" she sang as the doors slid open. "Are you awake yet?"

"Of course I am," came the irritated groan of a response from the bedroom.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel followed his voice and found him sprawled out over her bed. "I'm glad to see you've _moved_," she sighed exasperatedly.

Clye shook his head and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Why are _you_ so chipper?" he spat.

Rachel tried to tell herself his tone didn't sting her as she picked up their clothes and threw them in the cleaning processor. She asked the computer for two cups of red leaf tea and told him to get his butt up.

"But the bed is _sooo_ much more comfortable," he moaned. He caught her around the middle as she passed and pulled her onto the bed with him.

"Clye," she protested, trying to pull away. "I'd just like for you to get up. It might make you feel better."

"I can think of something we can do right here that'll make me feel better…"

"Clye, please..."

When he saw she wasn't going to give him anything, he let her go and scowled. "What now?" he snarled nastily. "Are you going to try to evict me again? Or are you going to try and lecture me to death instead? What are you even trying to accomplish? Anything you do is futile, your attempts are _meaningless_ to me. You waste your time trying to "make me feel better." Save us both the trouble and _drop it._"

Rachel fought the sob that welled up in her throat and pushed away from him roughly. That was it! If he opened his mouth again, she would definitely snap. She was tired of putting up with all his hurtful comments. She didn't care how "sorry" he was, there was no reason at all for him to treat her like this. All she had been was kind and considerate to him. _Why_ was he doing this? She wished she could ask but there was no way of knowing what was going on in his mind. Even if she wanted to know, he'd never let her in.

Damn him! That was all she could think to stop her tears. _Damn him_-

"What's wrong with you now?"

"Oh, shut up! What do you care anyway?"

He looked at her funny but she didn't bother to ask why. She left the room and picked up her tea with shaking hands. If she didn't control herself now, she had no idea what would happen next. She had no idea what kind of power just might be unleashed... Rachel squeezed her eyes shut.

"Well don't stop now," she heard Clye say. She didn't open her eyes, but he sounded close, like he'd actually entered the room.

"Don't." She hoped he didn't hear her voice quiver.

He laughed. "My mistake," he scoffed, "for a moment, I thought you'd actually be interesting."

"Shut up, Zorbek," Rachel hissed. "If you know what's good for you, you'd shut your stupid Cardassian mouth..."

"Using my surname now? Am I supposed to be worried?"

With a snarl, Rachel spun and hurled her cup of tea in his direction. Clye only just barely managed to duck. He rose clapping.

"Stop it! Stop it! I'm so _sick _of you!"

The smile slipped off his face. Rachel pushed the smug triumph from her raging thoughts.

"All I _ever _did was try and _help _you, you...you ungrateful _bastard_. I can't believe that I _ever _bothered with you. You are trouble. You are a _terrible being_ and I'm _disgusted _that I ever let you touch me!"

"Now, now..." Clye looked shocked, completely taken aback, it only made Rachel want to lash out more.

"My friends warned me about you, about _your kind_, and I didn't listen. I didn't believe them. I believed you'd be different! What a _stupid _little girl I was! You're nothing but an arrogant, nasty, despicable piece of shit. Exactly what I should have expected from a...a...a... SPOONHEAD!"

Finally, _finally_, hurt spread over his face and Rachel reveled in it. Finally, he was speechless. "Why would you-"

"Get out," Rachel snarled.

Confused, he tried again. "You've taken it too far-"

"GET OUT!"

Slowly, as if not entirely comprehending, he moved toward the door. "But, Rachel-"

"Odo's looking for you if you can take your head out of your ass long enough to meet him," she snapped. "Let's hope he arrests you. The detention cells are the _only _place _Spoonheads _belong anymore."

Clye stared at her in astonishment, frozen in place. Rachel's lip curled at him. She shoved him out the door and slammed her hand against the door panel, locking it.

Suddenly exhausted, she collapsed against the door and started crying. She tried to stop herself, embarrassed at the sudden change in emotion, feeling foolish for believing in him, guilty for the terrible things she said to the poor man, but unable to control any of her conflicting emotions. Rachel almost wanted to run out there and apologize immediately. There was no way she could, she knew. She owed it to herself to stand by her words even though they made her feel nauseated. It was no use anyway. It was done. She had ended it. Wasn't that better anyway? He could go back to his life and she could resume hers. Her plain, uneventful, sad little life.

No. There was no way.

Realizing her newfound loneliness only made her sob harder. It was no use. There was to be no "getting a grip of herself," it wasn't even worth trying. She just let the sobs wrack her body and was thankful that was all that was coming out.


	5. The Hems Don't Lie

_What in the world was going on?_ Clye wondered, stumbling out on the Promenade in a daze. He still couldn't seem to comprehend what was happening. One minute, he was conversing with her, the next he was being screamed at, insulted and thrown out. _What happened?_ He was only nettling her. Just a little. It was purely an affectionate gesture! Next thing he knew, he was having hot cups of tea thrown at him and was being called derogatory names. He just couldn't understand why the tables had turned so quickly. Was it simply human nature that made her change her mind so quickly? There was no way of knowing as she was the only human he'd really taken any time in dealing with. Were they all emotionally unstable? Or, perhaps had she always been that way? Thinking about it, she had never fought back until today. She had never reprimanded him with any snide quips or sarcastic remarks…maybe that meant that she had never liked his company at all. Clye shook his head, trying to clear it. He didn't understand anything!

For the second time in a matter of days, he'd been thrown out with nowhere to go. And he didn't even know how it happened! They were being perfectly cordial. Clye even thought they were getting along well. In all the madness, she was his only comfort. Rachel was nothing but kind and accommodating, even supportive. She surprised him with her courtesy and easy attitude. He was always supremely thankful for their unspoken agreement to not ask any questions, which Rachel abided by wondrously. Clye took it upon himself to return the favor however he could, so he showered her with appreciation and treated her affectionately.

Yet she never did treat him the same and apparently she held _nowhere near_ the same sentiment for him!

Clye was absolutely blindsided! There was no hint in their short past that she had any real problem with him. In fact, he would have ventured to say their relationship was agreeable. Better than he could have anticipated. Much better than he ever could have hoped.

And if he was being honest with himself… maybe he could have actually made good on his promises.

Well, not any longer.

Now he needed to find his own quarters or a means off the station or…. The possibilities were endless now, he supposed. What he undoubtedly needed, was a plan. He needed access to ship schedules, both docking and leaving. He needed star maps, records of nearby planets and their relationships with Cardassia and her colonies. He needed….

"_My friends warned me about you and your kind."_

Damn, he could hardly think straight. Blasted woman! His mind still felt sluggish and cluttered with the things she'd said.

"_I'm disgusted that I ever let you touch me."_

Why did these things bother him now? He had never let himself be affected by other people in this manner.

_Control yourself_, he ordered, clenching his fists. _She's just a stupid human girl…._

Still, he couldn't help but be a little wounded.

Clye took deep, steadying breaths, trying to ignore all the looks he was receiving from passersbys. Though he was sure everyone was aware of his presence by now, he had tried to make a point of not imposing himself on these people; he knew they wouldn't accept him. He felt he had to get away from the main thoroughfare. Maybe he'd step into the bar while he decided what to do next. Looking around for it, he spotted the security office instead and remembered that Rachel had mentioned the Shapeshifter was looking for him. What for, he could only imagine. It then occurred to him that if he wanted passage from the station, the security office was probably a good place to start.

Glancing around himself, he headed inside but found it was empty. Here at least, he was away from accusing stares and maybe he could even calm down enough to think.

No sooner had he sat down however, then the Shapeshifter walked in.

"Ah, Mr. Zorbek," the man grunted. "Glad you could make it."

He didn't sound _glad_ at all, but Clye decided he probably shouldn't say so. "Rachel told me you were looking for me…."

"Yes. You may not know me, but my name is Constable Odo. Obviously, I run security on this station," he supplied sitting down smartly behind his crescent shaped desk.

"Constable Odo, I'm afraid I don't understand why I'm here," Clye began delicately. "I can assure you that I have stayed in Rachel's quarters in an attempt to expose myself to as few of your patrons as possible. If there have been complaints about me, rest assured that I do intend on departing soon if conditions permit it. I apologize for any inconvenience my presence has imposed on this station."

Nodding, the Constable replied, "If you've made any problems for anyone on the station, no one has informed me. But I do hope you don't really plan on leaving so soon, Mr. Zorbek. After all, a deputy is of no use to me off-station."

Clye blinked in surprise. "Pardon?"

"_A_ _deputy_, Mr. Zorbek. Against my better judgment, but Miss Owens was adamant about my hiring you. She assured me you could do this job efficiently and objectively and although I had no desire to debate your qualifications, it is your… prejudices that I am concerned with…."

"_You_ want to have _me_ as a _deputy_?" It was too much for him to process and he was already slow enough as it was. He was only confused, not only in that the Constable would want _him_ as a security officer on a Bajoran station, but that Rachel was behind it. It didn't make any sense. Why bother if she disliked him? Why would she recommend him then throw him out?

"Yes, Mr. Zorbek. Please keep up," the Constable growled impatiently. "I need your word that you will treat the Bajorans fairly, even if they don't return the favor."

"Y-yes."

"And you will leave the affairs of the station to the station. You won't secretly report anything to Central Command or the Obsidian Order?"  
Clye's face darkened and he looked away. Hatred like venom welled up inside him and left a bitter taste in his mouth. "No," he said in a low even voice. "You don't have to worry about that."

The Constable didn't pry, only looked him over carefully before nodding. "Very good. You can start tomorrow. Go see the tailor, Garak, for your uniform—"

"Constable, if you would…" Clye interrupted, unable to contain himself any longer. "Did you say that _Rachel_ had something to do with this?"

"Yes. Rachel was the one who suggested you fill the position. As a Glinn aboard the _Prekklar_, I can only assume you were a capable soldier. Now I run things much differently here but—"

"Why would she do that?"

The Constable fixed him with a searching stare. "Why _wouldn't_ she? As I understood it, the two of you are… close…."

"You understood incorrectly," Clye scoffed. "She threw me out of her quarters not fifteen minutes ago."

"Is that so? Well it seems the girl finally developed some sense. Although... I find it unusual for someone who doesn't like you to recommend you for a position, don't you agree?"

Clye scowled at him and let a nasty remark die in his throat. If he was to actually work here for the Constable, it would serve him better in the long run not to mouth off. So he said nothing.

"This morning, I'd even say she was _worried_ about you…."

In answer, Clye laughed humorlessly.

The Constable leaned forward confidentially, lacing his fingers together. "It has been my experience that Cardassian and Human culture is _very different_. There are certain… nuances that could be easily miscommunicated or misinterpreted…."

Clye narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "How do you mean?"

The Constable shrugged and reclined indifferently. "It's just something to consider…. See you here at oh-eight hundred tomorrow. I suppose I don't have to tell you not to be late."

Thanking him profusely, Clye left the security office and sighed. What next? There was no room for him to return to and no one to ask for help. He was alone on a station full of strangers who hated him and now thanks to the Constable, he felt compelled to stay. There was only one thing for it, he had to request his own room here and live it out as best as he could. This is what he wanted anyway wasn't it? To live away from Central Command? Surely there was no better place for that than Bajor. Well, at least while the Federation was in place anyway. But now he didn't feel so sure. Rachel's stinging words still rang in his head. They kept popping in at inopportune moments like an infestation of Voles he just couldn't eradicate. Somehow, they were still a crippling blow each and every time.

"Ah! You must be the young Cardassian I've been hearing so much about!"

The voice jolted Clye from his increasingly bleak reverie. He looked around and found himself face to face with— another Cardassian! He was stouter than Clye with a wide, pleasant face and round, curious, light colored eyes. Well dressed and carrying himself proudly, he stirred some faint connection in the back of Clye's mind but he was too dazed to recall.

"My name is Garak. I'm the tailor aboard this station," he said politely, inclining his head, waiting for Clye's response.

Clye shook himself slightly and offered his hand. He remembered now. Garak the tailor. That's who Constable Odo had told him to see. He chided himself slightly for not realizing the name was _clearly_ Cardassian and introduced himself as Garak shook his hand.

"You'll find my shop right over there," he said, pointing over Clye's shoulder. "You drop by should you ever be in need of new dress." With a wide smile, Garak made to leave.

"Actually, I _do_ require your services. It seems I just procured a position in the security office. The Constable wished for me to seek you out about a uniform…."

Looking pleased, Garak led Clye towards his shop. When they entered the surprisingly spacious room, Clye was mildly impressed. Rich fabrics lined the walls, each displayed as elegant examples of suits and dresses of the latest fashions adorning several mannequins. The man most assuredly knew what he was doing, though there was something about Garak that made Clye a little suspicious. Now that he had a face to the name, there was a ghost of recognition that tickled the back of his mind. Something he was missing that was altogether obvious but elusive. Something he should have known immediately.

Garak led him to his sewing table and picked up a roll of measuring tape. "If you will, I need to take some measurements. Hold your arms out." Clye did as he was told and Garak continued, "So. How are you adjusting to life aboard the station?"

"It's very different," Clye grunted.

"That it is. But lucky for you, you've found yourself a companion quite quickly."

Clye tried to turn around but Garak tutted and made him face forward. "How do _you_ know that?" he said lowly.

"You aren't as discreet as you suppose. You and your lady friend were the talk of the station— how Bajorans like to talk."

"And tailors," Clye hissed, trying to turn again.

"Ah ah ah, forward! Anyways, word gets around here and there's next to nothing I don't hear through my customers."

"Do you always babble at them so incessantly?"

"Only when it suits me." Garak's fingers moved quickly and lithely and soon enough, he was finished. He patted Clye's shoulder, and said, "That'll do it. Come back tonight before closing to pick it up."

"You'll finish that quickly?" Clye didn't mean to sound so impressed, but he was hard pressed to control himself today.

Garak only smiled and shook his head. "I do know my trade, Mr. Zorbek."

Clye nodded to himself and made to leave but thought of something else to ask. "Where might I go to acquire my own quarters?"

Garak looked up at him from his sewing table with a frown. "Your own quarters? Is there a problem with the one you've been staying in?"

Clye regarded him with narrowed eyes and decided not to answer.

"If I may?" Garak asked and without waiting for an answer he continued, "Based on your irritability and how distressed you seemed when we first met out on the Promenade, something unforeseen has happened to you. That rules out any guilt about abandoning your post since _clearly_ that was purposeful; a part of some carefully orchestrated scheme, I'd wager. However, since you're asking about new quarters, it makes more sense that your problem has something to do with your lady friend. That would explain why you've been so distracted throughout our whole exchange— I find that women do tend to have that effect on us. Did she not work out quite the way you wanted her to?"

Scowling, Clye became still as a stone. Garak was uncanny but the more he spoke, the more he gave away. Clye's brief time in training kicked in and he became more alert, more attentive to details. The arrogant lean, the knowing look; something about Garak wasn't quite right for a simple tailor…

The man smiled conspiratorially. "Don't look so surprised, my young friend. Catching the details is in our nature, and I've made my life from observing the minute."

Clye found himself laughing then. Garak looked affronted at his outburst but Clye didn't care. _Of course!_ How foolish of him! Why hadn't he seen it before? His concentration must have slipped with all of today's excitement. Garak. Elim Garak. He was an expert in his own right, a high ranking opperative in the Obsidian Order. At least until he was exiled. What exactly he had done, Clye never knew, and he doubted that anyone really did. All he did know was that many soldiers were secretly recruited to replace him. Plenty tried and failed. Eventually they gave up and what the recruits lacked in skill, they tried to make up for in numbers. At least until very recently.

Finally, Clye managed, "I'm sure you have, _Garak_. Though we both know how it worked out for you…."

It was Garak's turn to grow suspicious as Clye kept chuckling to himself. "You…know of me?"

"I do," Clye replied with a smirk.

"But…only other operatives— and high ranking operatives at that…."

His smirk only grew wider. "My own quarters, Garak?"

"The station affairs office around the corner…." Garak said distractedly.

Clye thanked him and departed.

* * *

It had to have been the dullest day of his life.

Clye was surprised at how difficult it was to entertain himself. He didn't dare brave the bar and chance running into Rachel, so instead, he wandered the Promenade, watched ships come in and out of the wormhole, explored the many decks, experimented with different replicators, all completed within a matter of hours. The worst part of leisurely time wasn't that he couldn't find enough to do, but that he was alone in doing it. He found the whole ordeal was far less enjoyable without someone to appreciate his sarcastic comments. When they had first enjoyed one another's company, Rachel would laugh with him. She'd reward him with those small, poorly concealed giggles she tried to hide behind her hand. That only encouraged him to try harder, to really make her laugh uncontrollably. It became his mission and he always succeeded.

His fond smile slipped. What had changed? A whole day to himself, and he still didn't know.

A piece of him wanted to go back and find out, but a larger part was scared. She had made it clear what she wanted, why should he bother her simply for his own sense of closure? That was a selfishness he thought he didn't have a right to feel.

But as he passed the bar on the way to Garak's shop, he couldn't help but desire to give in to his own selfishness. He tried to catch a glimpse of her in vain. That was probably for the best, he reasoned. He could hardly afford the distraction before taking on new duties.

Garak greeted Clye warmly when he entered and gestured to a long white box on the counter. Clye checked it, looking over the rough tan fabric that looked not unlike what the Constable himself wore. He nodded. "I commend you, Garak. You do fine work, even here."

"Your compliments are much appreciated," Garak said humbly, handing Clye a thumb scanner. When Clye handed it back he asked, "Were you successful in finding a new place to stay?"

Clye sighed and looked the man over. He'd both faced and put this topic off all day. After signing every document the Station Affairs officer had pushed at him, she told Clye in a too-chipper voice that his request to receive quarters would be promptly processed: in at least a Bajoran week. He wasn't sure if the station was run that poorly or if it was because he was a Cardassian, but he now had few options left to him. "No," he replied shortly, considering if he dared ask Garak to take him in.

Garak smiled and shook his head slightly. "Ah, the folly of the young…. If you want my advice—"

"I don't."

"— I would just apologize."

Clye laughed. "Apologize? But _I_ didn't do anything wrong!"

Garak shrugged and turned away. He put the scanner down delicately and sighed, "Can I ask you something, Mr. Zorbek?" He fretted about his collar and tried to pull the hem further down. "Does this suit look a bit tight to you? You know, sometimes, for no reason at all, I feel as if my clothes suddenly no longer fit me the way they used to. Sometimes they shrink, and sometimes they just seem far too large. I try to hope that they stretch or shrink with me but oftentimes, that's not the case. No, because the truth is, my clothes are always right and it is I that have gotten too large or too thin for them. Very rarely, my clothes will accommodate me, but, usually, I have to skip a few meals. I find it's a small sacrifice to wear my favorite suits." He smiled widely at Clye. "Now, if you don't mind, I should like to close up shop."

Clye nodded distractedly, still not entirely certain what he just heard, and let himself be ushered out of the room.


End file.
